


A few scraps of conversation

by Knit1298



Series: Adam was special [1]
Category: Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Gen, Versalife
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2020-06-30 08:21:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19849273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knit1298/pseuds/Knit1298
Summary: Various situations for when someone in our favourite video game overhears others talking.





	1. Home made cooking

“Curfew again?” The question a woman asked, hadn't really registered with Jim Miller tiredly climbing the stairs up to his apartment door, but the low and deep gravel answering did. He'd recognise that voice anywhere.

“M-hmm, work kept me too long.” Agent Jensen.

“Actual work or did someone make you rewrite your reports again or talk about things you don't want to talk about?” there was a slightly concerned as well as teasing note to her voice.

“Our forensic wanted to demonstrate something he had found.”

“Ah, and you were too polite to cut him off. Forensic, that's the slim brown haired guy isn't it, the taller one, with glasses. Just what was his name... Fletcher?” The agent didn't answer but Jim felt anger rising in his gut, was Jensen again sharing confidential-

“Aw, Adam, you are just no fun to gossip around with. I observed your little shop's entrance long enough to know who's going in and out there. And the deal you made with K still stands, Samizdat won't write anything about the small, flourishing import/export company and its interesting cellar beneath.” clearly teasing the agent there now. Wait, observing Praha Dovoz _for months_?!

“Thought with him gone to Paris, you've become K.” For once Jim recognised the agent smoothly trying to change topics there, it was way easier to spot when you weren't the person being deflected.

“Everyone is K!” the woman declared with now deep amusement. “Don't you remember that pretty regale ceremony Jarek made you a honorary member of the K family with? Bet they're still arguing, if you are Broody K or Shiny Metal K ”

“Must have missed it.” Jensen mumbled dryly, yet it sounded slightly amused too.

She chuckled. “Well, on the bright side, like this, you'll get another proper meal this week. As much as I am for young ones drinking milk, those cereals are not meant to be the only food eaten! Yeah, yeah, they taste better than that awful bland aug cyberboost glue, but a grown man needs more than small multicoloured sugar balls, no matter if it's the perfect energy source for your augs.”

“Loops.”

“My dear?”

“I prefer loops to balls, soak the milk differently, affects the crunch.” Jim couldn't help a low snort, even though he couldn't tell if the aug just had been his bluntly honest self there or if this was actually a hint of a quite nice sense of humour.

“Oh, you...! Careful I don't loop this cooking spoon against your reinforced head one day! Now go and wash your hands and then get the dishes please, dinner is ready soon.”

The conversation had come from an apartment from the opposite side of the courtyard. A small and somewhat frail elderly woman, Jim had seen occasionally, lived there. He honestly had some difficulties to imagine her threatening the tall, dark and undeniably dangerous agent with a cooking spoon. Or to connect her with the underground newspaper Samizdat. _The infamous K being a neighbour of him? For real?_ Chang had reported about Jensen having dealt with Samizdat in order to protect TF29's cover, around the time of the Ruzicka and ARC investigation, but Jim didn't remember any details. Had Jensen been in contact with her before or ever since? What kind of deal did they actually have there?

It turned out Jensen was a regular guest in the other apartment. On Thursdays there often wavered the delicious smell of home made cooking from the open windows. Sometimes Jim heard them talking, other times he had seen Jensen arriving and being greeted, being hugged, by the elderly lady. It was both reassuring and concerning, what he _accidentally_ witnessed of those meetings, having a pretty good view into her living room from where his pool table was situated. Knowing the agent had some normal social contact at least, that he took secrecy about their work seriously, even if that woman apparently knew an alarming amount about what hid behind Praha Dovoz doors from her own investigations. And yet, the difference in the agent's whole demeanour. Seeing Jensen sitting at her table relaxed, showing emotions (okay, those were still rather subtle, but at least they were visible at all), smiling, talking, making conversation and other almost normal behaviour, had made Jim realise just how much on alert, on edge and closed off the agent was at work. Always guarded, even with him and what London had changed. The fact that the aug always seemed to have his eye-shields open around her, wasn't lost on him either. 

In the end he probably shouldn't have been that surprised when one day, fetching his mail, she invited him over too, asking head on if he didn't tire of merely watching rather than participating. The shocked expression of Jensen finding him seated at her table at least had balanced out Jim's own previous embarrassment over being found out spying. And she really was a great cook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't say why but I do really like little k and in my head she and Adam became good friends after she took over Samizdat. Her sense of humour and rather practical attitude, as well as her not letting him deceive her ('Are you telling me you are not?'), led to some sort of head canon in which she makes sure Adam keeps his feet both firmly planted on the ground and gets his head set straight if needed, as well as some friendly love and proper meal at least once in a while. Sort of being an adopted aunt, a revolutionary, working in the underground aunt. Since she still lives in that Hvlani Street apartment right across from Director Miller, it's the perfect place for Adam to crash for the night, when State police decides to close the metro again.


	2. Children and fools tell the truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cold winter day at Prague.

“Are there going to be treats?”  
“Naturally my dear, what would Christmas be without sweets? Chocolate, candies and cookies of course.”  
“Are we going to have a real tree? Can I help to decorate it?”  
Jim sees the mother smiling warmly at the child, as he is waiting near an entrance to a park. One of the few patches of natural green left within the city. Though it's powdered white right now. Not real deep snow, yet enough to see, winter finally has arrived and maybe giving a promise of a white Christmas. Definitely better than the recent fog and rain, even with this biting cold now.  
“I'm counting on your and your cousin's help in fact!”  
“Will there be board games all evening?”  
“Oh, yes, you know we always play throughout the Holidays.”  
Listening to more back and forth about what sounds like a nice and peaceful Holiday season coming up, Christmas shopping, food, traditions, family... makes him dearly miss his own.  
The kid just has so-, innocent questions.  
A reminder, that there are still people unaffected. Who don't know. Who mainly just live their lives. Who don't wake up sweating and panting from horrors and nightmares. There is envy deep within him, but even more, there is hope. That there will be better days again. When more people can be just normal. Happy for the small joys of life. This is why Jim is doing this job after all. 

“Will uncle Vitali be there too?” the little one's tone has changed, no longer the pre holiday excitement, but a seriousness instead that is severely atypical for that age.  
“No, -, he-, he won't be able to join us.” It's the way the mother stumbles over the words. The way she hesitates, trying to sooth the fears she seems to expect from her child. Jim just knows.  
_An aug._  
The new black sheep in families all over the world. Those to be whispered about, to be ashamed and afraid of. Those not being invited, the ones being renounced. The others being glad about their absence, maybe even wholly denying their existence.  
“But he was always there.” the kid mumbles, sad, not relieved. “How can we celebrate Christmas without him? He always makes us laugh so much. No one can read the stories like he does. Who will sing with us then? Direct us. The others aren't really good with that. Aunt Nina can't hit any tune properly. Who will impersonate grandpa, to make grandma smile when she remembers?  
Is he really unable to come? It's Christmas, the days when families should be together, isn't it? He has to be there!”  
Jim can hear the suppressed tears, as the woman manages to answer at last.  
Tears she hasn't allowed herself to shed about her brother or brother-in-law. For missing him, for being afraid. For leaving him behind. For thinking those ghettos are the right place. For forgetting, he is not just the metal added to his body, but also the one the kid remembers more clearly. The one that maybe tugged her hair, when they were young. That hugged her so warmly. That shared the last cinnamon cookie with her. That smiled mischievously so often. That-, Christ, he is projecting himself and his own sister into this. It's really been too long since he has called her last. 

“He really can't come, my dear.” The mother explains, her voice different now. “He won't get leave from where he lives currently. But what do you think of writing him? Of making sure he knows you-, that _we_ do miss him?” Let him know, he would be welcomed, if he was allowed to travel freely.  
“Yes! We could make pictures and videos too, so he can be there at least a little bit, when he watches them. “  
“That's a wonderful idea, honey!”  
Watching them leave right as Mac finally arrives, Jim has to shake the renewed envy away.  
Time to get on with their work. Making sure kids like this one can remain innocent.  
There is hope.  
For better days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit odd to post this while sitting at hot summery temperatures, but I'm not happy with my other snippets of overheard conversations yet, so here you go.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time at a facility of Versalife

“You have run the tests, I asked you for?”  
“Yes, but the tissue sample got contaminated, the results are useless. Had to prepare a second batch that currently-”  
“The sample got contaminated? The only possibility for that to happen is you not paying attention to your work! Be fucking more careful not to waste more of those samples or you soon may volunteer for some testing yourself!”  
Angry stomps are leaving the room.  
“Whew, that guy has a mood today... as if we couldn't just draw new samples from the subjects downstairs.” the scientist mutters to himself as much as to his co-worker.  
“Not in this case. We only have what little is left in the cryo container.”  
“What? The subject is dead? But this whole project is useless without-” The woman interrupts him again.  
“No, not dead, but out of reach.” her explanation remains vague.  
“For real? Wouldn't have thought they'd let those genes go out of their hands.”  
Not revealing any of her thoughts there, she turns back to her own experiment with a shrug. Only bent into the laboratory hood she allows herself a short unguarded moment. Of closing the eyes and taking a deep breath, a subtle shudder as she remembers. 

How peaceful he had looked like, asleep. _No, put under._  
How hard that face had become in contrast, when waking up. A sharp click snapping those lenses shut. Her team leader and his second dying left and right of her, when the man had broken loose. _When hell had broken loose._  
She still was prone to waking up deep in the night, with that pressing feeling clamping down on her chest, the feeling of drowning in fear. Blood all over her again, the need to scrub her hands raw until it came off...  
She still didn't understand why he had spared her. Why she had been the sole survivor, last time they had held him at a laboratory. 

She once had voiced her concerns about the amount of sedation being used, asked if those drugs didn't influence their research. About the close to lethal doses being applied. But Steve had waved her off, had said it was necessary and wouldn't change their results, nor would it kill the subject.  
That awful creaking sound, she still remembered it way too clearly. Remembered searching for the source, thinking of an earthquake at first. When for real it had been metal being bent, broken, ripped apart.  
The two others had been dead before anyone had been able to sound the alarm. _So much blood. Spilling over the pristine floor._  
She remembered seeing the scene reflected on those gold tinted glasses staring at her. The heavy breathing. That black gold hand opening and closing, before it had ripped off the remains from the metallic bindings, she always had wondered about. Before he simply had turned away and left.  
She remembered men in dark suits talking to her, afterwards. Asking questions, though having no real recollections about her own answers. They had sent her here then. Not directly working with life samples any longer. Always the safety of distance and a microscope between her and- _him._  
These were his cells. Paid for with blood and death.  
_He had looked so peaceful there._ Another lie, like so many others around here.  
He had escaped. She still was here. Trapped. Kept under observation. Now that she knew the truth, she was glad he had managed to flee. 

The new guy had no idea of what was going on. Still was blind, just as she had been at the beginning, fascinated of the possibilities, of the lack of limits, the near endless support monetary and scientific.  
Unaware of the price. The price each of them paid, in the dark of the night, when they were alone with their conscience. The price those people paid, those downstairs, those who were kept hidden behind those combination of letters and numbers. Those being there without a choice.  
Blind enough for not to notice her sabotaging the crystal grid. Just a tiny bit. Just enough to make that whole batch useless.  
He was a miracle, a wonder of nature, what cures possibly could be derived from those genes... But they were no longer producing cures around here. Not for a long time.  
They would try again, of that she was certain, yet hoped to never see that container in the nitrogen freezer to be filled again. For that would mean they'd caught him again. That again, he would be bound to a table, kept under, always close to dying.  
Looking peaceful, but being used to bring pain and death. 

He had spared her. Just like that.  
She starts to suspect the reason when the new lead scientist comes by to discuss some project details. A woman. Middle blond hair, only a subtle shade darker than her own. The eye colour, the stature. They could have been sisters. There are rumours that there is a personal connection to _him_.  
Though she really hopes she never had that kind of look in her eyes, the one that woman has when ever she speaks of subject BH847.  
By now she has learned, not to show, to hide her contempt, to suppress her anger, her horror. To smile convincingly. To survive among these sharks, for she knew too much to be allowed to leave alive.  
“Oh yes, I'm really looking forward to work closer with you, Dr Reed.”


	4. Languages

“Buy something!”  
“Alright, show me what you've got.”  
The Aug from the top floor apartment was a regular customer at Tars' little shop, mainly buying biocells, sometimes ammunition for stun guns or some hypostims. Selling an assault rifle or shotgun now and then. Otherwise the interest into their wares was pretty minimal.  
The two bouncers long had stopped to try to intimidate the man, since it hadn't really worked on him in the first place and what little they knew about what that dark coat really hid, they'd rather not provoke an unnecessary confrontation. It could be a mere coincidence, but the move in of the American correlated with the rumours about the end of that drug lab in the sewers, the stop put to that weird cult or that all of a sudden, the police took actual interest in those fake checkpoints harassing Augs. Some whispered tales also mentioned dark tall figure involved there, so they had decided not to take a risk. Especially since that Aug never had tried anything at Tars' shop. Better let sleeping dogs lie.  
“He comes by for months now, do you think he knows?” they conversed in Czech, while watching their boss taking care of the business part.  
“Knows what?”  
“That those few words are about all the English Tars knows.”  
“Why do you think that even matters?”  
“Dunno, just thought about it.”  
“Vitali, we're selling weapons, not conversations.”  
“I know that.” the other bouncer grunts back. “Still makes me wonder...”  
They watched their boss growl another short sentence at the Aug, who as usual said his own more or less polite goodbye and left.  
Passing the door he said something to them too with an air of expense, though leaving as they didn't react.  
Once he was out of view and earshot they looked at each other again.  
“What was that?”  
“Why do you ask me, he talked to you! I don't know!”  
“But I've no idea what he said.”

They stand around in silence for a while, guarding the door before one of them asked.  
“You think it was an insult?”  
“What?”  
“The American, what he said.”  
“Told you, didn't understand a word there!” the other bouncer grumbled slightly irritated.  
The first huffed and unintelligibly muttered to himself until the other lost his patience  
“What does it even matter? He's a customer, as long as he pays for what he buys, he could be blabbing in Chinese as far as I'm concerned.”  
“Even throwing insults at you?”  
“Hmph, has that guy sounded like insulting you? He doesn't even return Tars bad moods, why would he suddenly talk crap at us?”  
“But what did he say there?”  
“God damn, if it's that important just ask him next time he passes by!”

Upstairs, inside the apartment on the top floor, a book was put back on a couch table. The title read 'Learning Czech for beginners', with a sigh the man owning said book leant back. Maybe those bouncers hadn't been the right people for trying out what he had learned so far...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Tars reacts dfferently depending of the player actually buying stuff from him, but here is another explanation why he is rather taciturn and grumpy.


End file.
